Fathers
by Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain
Summary: A conversation between two fathers.


**Disclaimer:** I own neither _Without A Trace_ nor the characters involved. This is for entertainment purposes only, I make no money from this.

**Credits:** Thanks to my beta, Kate98

**Spoilers:** _Endgame_ and vaguely Season 4

**Author's note**: No... not my usual POV... but if it seems similar, well, they might be more alike than they want to think ;)

**Fathers**

He doesn't know why he's doing this, except that he doesn't know who else to talk to. At the same time, this man is not a friend or an ally; he is an antagonist and sometime enemy. On so many levels, this does not make sense, but they have one thing in common. He just wishes the commonality was greater.

"Victor." Jack seems surprised, even annoyed.

"Jack." He doesn't bother to suppress his weariness or pain. Maybe the psychologist in Jack sees this, or maybe the slight relaxation in Jack's features is just Victor's wishful thinking. "How is he?"

Jack must be surprised. Shouldn't Victor know this already? After all, 'he' is only Victor's son.

Jack nods, the gesture barely perceptible. "He's alive."

"Beyond that?"

Jack's smile is just a hint. "I think he's angry."

"Irritated," Victor corrects. It's one of the few things he knows: if Martin was angry, there would be no need to think. Stories range throughout the agency of Victor and his temper; the father is but a pale reflection of the son. OPR may be satisfied with the story in the Reyes case, but Victor knows better. If Reyes reached for a knife, it was because he genuinely feared for his life. Martin would have been better named Michael for vengeance – though perhaps the God of War is a fitting substitute. What Jack is rumoured to have done with a chair, Martin once did with a fist. Victor remembers the cracks webbing away from a single blow and wondering what would happen if that concentrated rage were ever aimed directly at a person. He knows, now, but will say nothing, for there is no concrete proof and too many good people would suffer from the speculation.

"Irritated," Jack agrees. Perhaps he knows, too. Fortunately, for the world at large, Martin's anger is hard to stir. Perhaps if it had been a friend rather than Martin himself injured there would be more cause for concern in that direction.

Not that Victor has no cause for concern. To discover merely from a report, to have no one tell him… do people think that the supervisor overrules the father? Have politics made him seem so cold and uncaring that they think he doesn't want to know when his own son has been shot? "You've got kids, Jack." No need to phrase it as a question when they both know that it's true.

"Two." Jack confirms, his tone betraying his feelings. He's wary of where this conversation might go. It is, after all, a touchy situation. He must wonder if Victor is here to castigate him for not taking better care, for risking such an asset as the Deputy-Director's only boy.

"Do you talk? If you were in trouble, do you think they'd call you?" If any of this conversation leaks out, he will deny it, and destroy the man responsible. He doesn't think it will, though. Jack is not an ambitious man, he's not willing to advance at any cost.

"I'd like to think so." The answer is cautious. Jack's body language changes though, he shifts his weight to lean backwards in the chair, less combative, more open.

"The last time Martin talked to me, it was to ask for the name of a heart-specialist." Victor smiles, bitterly. "He wouldn't say why, and I could only assume he wasn't calling for himself."

"No." Jack gives him that much, at least. Until now, it was only suspicion and hope. With Agent Johnson on medical leave… Victor couldn't bring himself to look any deeper than that, just in case. Now, at least, he can breathe. There's only a bullet to complicate the old issues and Jack just confirmed that the wound is survivable. "I gathered you don't talk much." Then Jack seems to realise what wasn't quite said. "He didn't call you after…"

Victor shakes his head. "No." Not after the surgery, not in all the time Victor waited in the hospital, or even after Martin was released to head home. Not one call, to the office, to his pager. The only reason he learned anything from the doctors was the grace of law, allowing him as a member of the family to get news of life or death, even if details weren't forthcoming. But doesn't the cliché say a near-death experience is supposed to make you appreciate life? Try to make you repair damaged bridges? Isn't that why he's here? Why can't he do it? Why can't he pick up the phone himself?

That's the easy one: Martin won't answer. The boy has caller-I.D.; he'll take one look and let the machine pick it up. Martin can be very passive-aggressive; he gets it from both sides of the family.

"You don't really talk at all, do you?" Jack might have been raised Army and done his time in the Airborne, but now the academic side comes out strong. People might be surprised to find out how much Victor knows about Jack Malone, but he wasn't going to turn his son over to a complete stranger. Working from intelligence, Victor would be disinclined to trust Jack with anything, but he knows Martin admires this man – perhaps it is the lack of ambition, making Jack the anti-Victor. When it comes to people, Martin has good instincts, though. Better than his own.

There is nothing else to say. "No. Martin calls when he wants something." Which isn't often, either. If he wants something, it's usually for somebody else, and even then he has to be desperate. Victor should tell him 'no' sometimes, should stop letting himself be used that way, but those meagre phone calls are almost all he gets. Even at the wedding, face-to-face, they barely exchanged two words – Martin couldn't wait to get away from the table.

_"Look. I'm here, because I'm supposed to be." Martin smiled at a passer-by, possibly a cousin, it was hard to keep track of everybody. The smile seemed bright, friendly, innocuous. To an outsider, this looked like a happy family conversation; the training clearly holds. "Don't even bring it up, because I swear to God that I am two seconds away from walking out right now." His breath betrayed the truth – alcohol kept him numbed enough to deal, that was all._

_"Martin…" Victor silenced himself at the look in Martin's eye, the happy-friendly gleam replaced with the cold, sullenness that Victor fears more than anything._

_"Don't."_

And then Martin walked away, smiling and shaking hands with someone else, the message clear. It was a cease-fire, not a truce or disarmament. They'd raised the boy for politics, and damned if he doesn't do it perfectly, charming and bright, betraying no sense of the charcoal rage burning inside of him. Just smouldering, but hot enough to explode if the conditions are right. But rumours say that these people get something special, that they see sides of Martin that Victor has never heard of before. Things like laughter and loyalty. Victor tries to remember if he's ever seen a true smile on the face of his son, or if they've always just been because he was told to smile, and he learned that the right smile could hide his true thoughts.

"You know, I've gotten the idea that there's tension between you two." If Martin can be two-faced, then Jack is a master of sarcastic understatement. At the same time, he's wrong. The true tension isn't between Victor and Martin; Victor's just the negotiator, trapped between combatants who see no need to compromise. Two combatants so alike that it only feeds Victor's pain, knowing that where one is, the other could follow.

"Martin is…" How to phrase this without giving away too much, without baring secrets even Martin has kept? "Martin is very stubborn."

Jack's face says that these words are not a revelation. Victor would be more surprised to discover that they were. Again, people think 'like father, like son' and again, they couldn't be more wrong. Victor's problem is that he's not stubborn _enough._ He won't say 'stop it' to either one of them, he just lets the battle continue, staying in the middle to take hits from both sides. They say men of power are closet masochists – is it any wonder then that he's made in as far up in the hierarchy as he has?

Victor sighs. "I didn't want him in this job." Not knowing it as he does, from the inside out.

"He's said." It's clear that Jack doesn't quite approve of that stance, and maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong.

"Would you? Want your child doing this? Knowing…" Knowing that the world no longer respects the law, knowing how easily they could die… what father would wish that on his son or daughter? They're supposed to be proud parents – that's the propaganda. Yet, it's terrifying. Every time the phone rings, Victor flinches, praying it's not the call worse than any he's already gotten, the one that says there will be no more calls, no more liquor-fuelled fights and moments of resentful silence.

Jack shakes his head, suddenly seeing the father behind the figure-head. "No… no, I wouldn't. That's not Martin's take on it, though."

"No," Victor agrees, "I'm sure he sees it as trying to ruin his life." He smiles, sadly, at a distant memory. Martin refusing help in balancing a too big bicycle, wanting to do it on his own. And unlike most children who merely cried when the inevitable happened and skin met pavement, Martin had reacted in anger, a blue-print for later in life, jerking the bike upright and trying again until he mastered it, though the bike, fence, and nearby trees had paid a heavy price. He remembers what happened afterwards too – triumph marred by condemnation for ruining shirt and pants, for damaging the flesh and spoiling perfection. Words hurting more than any fist or slap. _And I said nothing._ From fear, from misconception… The _lack_ of words caused more damage, teaching a lesson that might never be unlearned. The child couldn't conceive of neutrality, he saw it as taking the opposing side. Took it to mean that he was on his own, and has pushed away offers of help and reconciliation ever since.

"It's natural for children to try to establish their own identity. Given the circumstances, Martin has it harder than most." No question whose side Jack is on. Victor can't blame him; after all, what has Jack seen? All the man has to go on is Martin's version of the story, and Victor's not even certain what story that is. All he knows is that he must be cast in the part of the villain. It's the role that suits him, especially on this stage.

"It was his choice." Victor defends himself with dry levity. "And don't tell me he didn't have some idea what he was getting into."

Jack can't deny it – Martin can be impulsive, but he's not stupid. No one could say that. The stupid things he's done are during those rare times when emotion has overridden thought. And while Martin may make snap decisions, how he lives his life is not one of them. Even the times he ran away. Victor knows that each attempt was planned out and considered. The act of rebellion might have been emotional, but the actions were those of someone highly rational. And even then, he'd known what he was getting into: unlike many runaways who dream of an easy life, Martin took into account the dangers and the deprivations. That's _always_ been Martin's style, the boy was born an analyst. Even his impulsive choices are made weighing benefit and cost – ask him why he did something and he could tell you what the risks were and why he thought they were worth it.

Time and reality catch up. He remembers where he is, and whom he's talking to. "I just wanted to make sure he's okay." He stands up, his overcoat folded over one arm. Jack stays seated, watching him.

"I'll tell him you stopped by." Jack seems to be studying his face. His statement sounds so much like one Victor repeats at the end of every conversation with his son: _I'll tell your mother you're looking well._ The only plea he ever makes for reconciliation, knowing in his heart that it's impossible.

"Thank you." It's more than he dared ask. Maybe Jack can succeed where he has failed and achieve, if not a total ceasefire, then a broadening of the neutral zone. Maybe, now, Jack can understand some of the reasons for actions taken – not the king grooming a prince, but simply a father trying to look out for his son, to fix the skinned knees he never got a chance to tend to before.

"Why here?" Jack's words stop him as he reaches the door. "Why let him come here?"

Victor turns back, a Martin-like answer springing to his lips, but the truth, all the same. "I was hoping you'd get rid of him. Push him back towards a desk."

Jack nods. "Keep him safe."

"Keep the _world_ safe. Have you seen angry?"

Now Jack smiles, a twisted, ironic smile. "I'm used to it. Few more knocks to the head, he'll learn to control himself."

Victor inclines his head, conceding the point. His own smile is faint, just a ghost. "I'll leave it to you, then." Again, he wonders what magic this man possesses. This is not the first time he's stood here, turning his child over to this near-stranger. Yet somehow… somehow under this man's tutelage Martin's edges are softening.

On the way out, he sees something at someone's desk, an unframed picture of five people at a softball game – the office picnic from the looks of things. He unpins it from the divider and looks more closely. It's hardly a good shot, the focus is off and the flash reflected in something. Still…

Without thinking, he slips it into his pocket. A silly, petty crime and hardly worth the risk, but for one thing: in the picture, Martin is smiling.


End file.
